When he had the roof plates nice and loose, Remo lifted them free and looked down.
There was still a little space left in the cab. About three inches. It was a tangle of metal. But there were no body parts or any smell of blood, brain or bowels.
Standing up, Remo called after Melvis and K.C. "Never mind the crowbar. I got it open."
Remo had to repeat it three times before the pair stopped talking with their hands and looked back.
They came charging back whooping and hollering.
Melvis climbed up as Remo jumped down. He gawked at the open roof, looked down inside and asked, "How'd you do that?"
"I popped the rivets."
"I can see that. With what?"
"Pocket rivet popper," said Remo. "Forgot I had it on me."
"Fingernails of the correct length would have been more seemly," Chiun undertoned.
Melvis climbed down again and said, "I wouldn't mind havin' me a handy gadget like that. Let me take a gander."
"Sorry. Get your own."
"You know what you just done up there ain't within the purview of the DOT."
"Sue me," suggested Remo.
"NTSB might just do that little thing."
"There's no engineer," Remo argued.
"He coulda jumped clear."
"Not if he were suicidal," K.C. remarked.
"You keep your pretty little cowcatcher out of this. Pardon the expression."
K.C. offered a frown and yanked her engineer's cap low over her eyes.
"No engineer means you can throw drugs, diabetes and accidental derailments out the window," said Remo.
"Let's not be rushin' events. Maybe that guy back there set the engine to runnin' and had an accomplice lop his head off."
"Couldn't happen that way," K.C. said.
Melvis squinted up his homely face. "How's that?"
"See this here tilt reset switch?" she said, indicating the RC control panel. "If the engineer falls over or drops dead, the tilt function comes on, signaling the air brakes to clamp down."
"A fail-safe?" asked Remo.
"Yep. Once the RC is dropped, you have to reset everything. And that poor guy back there is too long dead to have been the one to wreck the train. It was the one who killed him that did the deed, sure as the corn grows high in July."
"You don't say," Melvis blurted.
K.C. stuck out her tongue at him. Melvis grinned back.
"Enough," said Chiun. "This deed is the work of a ronin. "
"A what?" Melvis and K.C. asked in unison.
"A ronin."
"Never heard of a ronin. You, K.C. gal?"
Reaching into the bib of her farmer's jeans, K.C. extracted a dog-eared paperback book. Remo saw the title: Kovac's Engine Handbook.
"Ronin, ronin, " she murmured. "How you spell it.
Chiun said, "R-o-n-i-n."
"Nope. No Ronin locomotive in here."
"He's not talking about an engine," Remo said.
"Then what is he talking about?"
"A ronin is Japanese."
Melvis grunted. "No wonder. Kovac's covers only U.S. of A. motive-power units."
"Diesel or electric?" K.C. asked.
"Neither. Samurai."
They blinked.
Just then Melvis Cupper's pager started beeping.
"Sure hope that ain't what I think it is," he complained, charging off in the direction of the emergency crew.
They took their time following him. When they caught up, Melvis was handing a cellular phone to an Amtrak worker in a white plastic hard hat and orange safety vest.
"We got a haz-mat situation down the line a piece," Melvis bellowed. "Not twenty miles from here."
"How's the engine?" K.C. asked in a stricken voice.
"Dunno. Look, I can't take you boys with me on account of it's a hazardous-materials situation, and you're general pains in the butt anyway. Adios and happy trails."
Melvis tried to push past the Master of Sinanju, whose right sandal suddenly darted between Melvis's ostrich-skin boots.
Melvis fell flat on his face, and the Master of Sinanju stepped onto his back.
"I will not allow you to stand again until you have agreed to take us with you," Chiun said with measured vehemence.
"You're a nice old geezer, I do admit it," Melvis grunted. "But if you don't get offa my back in five seconds, I'm gonna rear up and wash over you like the Galveston flood."
Face bland, Chiun shifted his sandals apart.
"Better tell your friend to do what Mel said," K.C. said anxiously. "He can't weigh much more than ninety pounds."
Remo shook his head. "He's on his own."
"How can you say that about such a sweet old man?"
"I meant Melvis," said Remo.
"Last chance," bellowed Melvis. "I'm countin' backward from three."
Chiun tucked his hands into his kimono sleeves.
"Ready? Three!"
Chiun closed his eyes. He seemed to be concentrating.
"Two." Melvis arched his back.
Chiun showed no sign of moving.
"One! "
Chiun tapped one toe softly.
Melvis suddenly collapsed like a deflated tire. He went "Oof!" as his face jammed into the soft soil. He began making strenuous noises like a rooting hog. His blunt fingers gouged the earth as he strained to lift the incredible weight of the old Korean from his broad back.
The Master of Sinanju simply stood there, eyes closed, serene, a vagrant breeze snatching at his wispy beard.
Puffing, Melvis twisted his face around so he could breathe through his gulping mouth.
"What'd you do-set a boulder on my back? That ain't fair."
"There ain't nothing on your back except that little old man," K.C. pointed out.
"Don't you prevaricate at a fellow rail fan. I know a dad-gum boulder when one lights on my poor spine."
"I will step off if you agree to take us with you," said Chiun.
"Dang it, you got me flummoxed. Okay, doggonit, I agree."
And Chiun stepped off. He alighted gently as if he weighed no more than a small child.
Melvis got himself turned around, stared up at the Nebraska sky and concentrated on getting air in and out of his wheezing lungs.
"What the hell happened?" he gasped at last.
Chiun smiled thinly. "I thought like a boulder."
"That's some powerful imaginin'. You near to squashed me flat."
"To squash you flat would have required thinking like an elephant. I did not wish to do that to you, a fellow appreciator of steam."
"Appreciate that," wheezed Melvis. "I surely do."
THEY FLEW approximately thirty miles due east, over the Union Pacific track. Corn and prairie predominated.
"What's in the big trunk?" K.C. asked Remo after they had lifted off. Melvis had insisted three freeloaders were as inconvenient as two, so what the hell.
"I don't know," Remo said truthfully.
"Then why are you guarding it like it contains the family jewels-pardon the indelicate expression."
Remo cocked a weary thumb in Chiun's direction. "Ask him."
"What's in the trunk?" Melvis repeated.
"Sloth."
"You got a sloth in there?"
"That is not the sloth I speak of." Chiun eyed Remo, who watched the flat green ground surging beneath them.
"The only sloth I know of climbs trees and eats grubs."
"There is another species of sloth. It is a cousin to shame."
"That is definitely a different critter."
"Why is she coming along?" Remo asked Melvis.
Melvis leaned over and lowered his voice. "I kinda like the shimmy of her caboose-if you know what I mean."
Remo was about to point out the undeniable fact of the ten-year age difference between them when they came upon the wreck.
"It's the Desert Storm consist!" K.C. said.
"Yeah, and if it ain't in a pickle, I'm an unhung rapscallion."
Chiun's eyes flashed. "Why are soldiers guarding that train?"